YARAK: The peak of a bull hunter’s lifetime and a tribute to a great friend

Yarak: a falconry term describing when a falcon is at its peak hunting ability with regards to practice, focus, and physical conditioning. I interpret it as a perfect blend of years of preparation all coming together at the right moment when an opportunity presents itself.

On September 7th, I got an email from Colorado Parks & Wildlife saying that a premium elk tag had been returned, and I was next in line to receive it. The season was only three weeks away, and this was not a unit I was familiar with, but it was a unit I would have been crazy to turn down.

After weeks of not sleeping, it was finally the day before the hunt opened. My grandpa (Pa) and I loaded the trucks and headed to set camp. My dad and buddy Josh would meet us at camp later that evening. It meant a lot to me to have all these guys joining me on this hunt.

Rumors of Giants

We were starting the hunt in an area that looked like the furthest thing from “elk country” that I could imagine, it was low, flat, and broken country. A very generous archery hunter had shared some information and pictures with me of a bull that he had chased there during archery season. The bull was a true giant. Problem was, he hadn’t seen him in over eight days.

We scoured that country for three days, hoping to turn up the bull, but it was to no avail. It appeared that this big old bull had slipped away back to the hidey-hole that had allowed him to grow to the impressive age and size that he had. The experience of holding a tag and knowing a bull of this caliber was somewhere on the landscape in and of itself was a cool experience. Every cow or spike we would glass up would get our hearts racing, only to be let down when hundreds of inches of antler did not appear on top of their heads.

After three days of searching for the giant, I decided it was time to relocate and try to find another one of the big bulls this unit was known to hold. I had thought a lot about what it was I wanted out of this hunt. I had decided that I did not need to kill the biggest bull in the unit to be satisfied. Sure, I’d love to kill a bull like that, who wouldn’t? But I wasn’t going to let score alone determine whether or not I was content with the hunt. I knew there were other bulls in this unit that would reach the level I had set for myself as a benchmark. I decided that if I could take the bull of my dreams and share that experience with the people I had along with me on this hunt, that’s all I could ask for.

Gut Feeling

Changing locations was quickly rewarded, as we saw more elk in the first spot we checked than we had in all the previous days combined. We were seeing lots of bulls, and the rutting activity was unbelievable. It truly was the kind of hunt that dreams are made of. I passed on several really nice bulls, and I’m certain that Dad, Pa, and Josh were all questioning my sanity for letting a couple of them walk. I just wasn’t ready for the hunt to end. I was trying to soak in every ounce I could. I wanted to keep having elk encounters, keep shopping around, and see what else we could turn up. I just hadn’t yet seen the bull that I didn’t have to think twice about, the one I couldn’t talk myself out of.

After overdoing it on the morning of day five, we were all pretty worn out. That evening, we opted to hunt a spot where we could split up and Dad and Pa could long-range glass from an easy-to-access point. Josh and I would hike out and around and get into position, that way if something showed up, we would be close enough to make a play. Even though we were tired, I kept having a gut feeling that we needed to be in that spot. We taped up the hot spots on our feet, shouldered our packs, and made our way up the hill.

We reached our first glassing point and had elk spotted in no time. I told Josh “I’ve got a couple of cows spotted, no bulls yet.” A couple of seconds passed, and Josh lowered his binos and gave me a peculiar look. At his direction, I took a few steps towards where he was standing and looked again. I instantly realized the reason for the look he gave me. Just out of view from where I had been standing, was, hands down, the best bull we had laid our eyes on. He instantly got me excited; I liked everything about him. I told Josh, “That’s the one!” We were out of range, so we slipped back into the trees and wrapped around the hill to get into a better position.

A Rifle With History

We closed the distance and found a good spot to set up. I ranged the bull at 441 yards. I looked down at my rifle. This rifle was the brainchild of myself and our friend Casey Gillenwater. Casey and I spent hours researching every component – barrels, triggers, stocks, cartridges, scopes, etc. When it was said and done we had assembled what I still believe to be the ultimate deer rifle, a 6.5-06 Ackley Improved, pushing a 140-grain Berger bullet at 3100 FPS.

Casey was a close friend of Josh’s and mine, our roommate, and hunting partner. In 2017, we lost Casey in a tragic car accident. The loss of Casey left a void in so many people’s lives. He was a great person and a one-of-a-kind friend. I had Casey’s name and “lucky #17” engraved on the bottom metal of my rifle; just my way of having him there on all of our hunts. Over the years, this rifle has shown itself to be bad medicine on deer. But was it up to the test on a big bull elk? We were about to find out.

I dialed the scope to 440 yards. I settled in behind the gun and took a couple of slow deep breaths. As the bull fed, he finally turned and gave me the angle I wanted, I let my breath halfway out and paused, the pressure on my finger built, and the shot broke clean. I saw the flesh ripple when the bullet impacted the bull in the heart.

Smoothly and quickly my right hand worked the bolt. The bull never came out of my crosshairs. He hopped a few times in a small circle, and no sooner had he stopped than the next round was in the air. This shot too found its mark, this time in the bull’s high shoulder. On impact, his legs pulled in underneath him and he fell in a heap.

More Than A Great Bull

Years of waiting and dreaming; the previous weeks of sleepless nights, all the hours at the gun range perfecting hand loads, all the backpack cardio hikes, two perfectly executed shots, all came together in perfect harmony. A lifetime of preparation had met opportunity, my version of “YARAK.” The bull of my dreams was now just 441 yards away, waiting for me to come and put my hands on him.

It was one of those perfect moments in hunting that we all dream about, but so rarely actually experience. I called Dad and Pa on the radio and told them the bull was down. After some cheering over the radios, they headed our way. Josh and I walked to the bull. When we got to him, I dug through my pack and found the three shooters of Captain Morgan (Casey’s favorite drink) that I had been saving for this exact moment. We all shared a drink and soaked in the sunset and the moment together.

When Dad and Pa got there, we all stood around the bull, re-telling every detail of the story over and over again, taking tons of pictures, and eventually breaking the bull down for the pack out. Before I knew it, it was 2 AM, and we had the bull back to the truck. I completely lost track of time that night; I was caught up in the moment. I was packing out the bull of my dreams with all of my closest hunting buddies there to share the experience.

It’s a little bittersweet. I realize just how rare and special those moments are, and I’m not sure if or when I will ever experience another hunt that checks all the boxes the way this one did. Maybe one day when I get to watch my son, Henry Case, take the buck or bull of his lifetime, I will get to experience that level of excitement again. I look forward to that day.